


The Darkest Knight

by ADudeSomewhere



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game), Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: A Mix of Both endings really, Again, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Hollow found purpose, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dream No More Ending (Hollow Knight), Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADudeSomewhere/pseuds/ADudeSomewhere
Summary: Two worlds meet, and although much is wrong in both places, they can make things right when they work together.





	1. The Pale and The Progenitor

**Author's Note:**

> In which the foundation for the possibility of the rest of the premise of the fic happening is laid.

The Ancestor sighed wove away his manservant, carrying another pile of responses to his announcement of a need for personal security. He already had an army, if one was loose and generous in their definition, in the form of the brigands. The Brigands were very well for the subjugation of the Hamlet, but The Ancestor didn’t trust them for his security. Enough gold and a disloyal man will do anything, no matter the hellish punishment that may be threatened for such treachery.

The Ancestor looked upon the top of the stack of application papers, going through them with the efficiency of a man who knew well what most of them were filled with; empty boasts of great deeds or only the most minor of works. Those which were promising, such as competent knights with a reputation for loyalty, or veterans with no life but combat, went into a thick wooden binder for later, more stringent sorting. The others, petty thugs and simple street toughs looking for more lucrative work went into the fire.

At the bottom of the pile was a tablet. A tablet of thin metal, much unlike any he’d seen before, detailing where to obtain a book of simple rituals for contacting another world. All of the rituals were seemingly for contacting different parts of the same world, specifically the “Kingdom of Hallownest”.

It struck him like a bolt of lightning, that this may be his solution! His previous experiments in summoning skipped directly into bringing the being to him, with the creature summoned leaving to wreak havoc if not immediately bound and put into a host. But to be able to convince one to come and serve willingly… it may just be the key to a loyal, competent bodyguard.

He looked over the tablet, weighing the possible costs and rewards. On one hand, he could gain a loyal bodyguard and possibly learn some new things. On the other, he could have any number of horrific things happen to him. If he even finds the book, that is. He could well waste time and resources, although he had much of the first, the second was running thin.

He makes up his mind, writing a note to have his manservant make some of the more mundane arrangements.

================ 

Some time later…

================

The Ancestor watched as the crate holding his new book was unloaded from the skiff, the small boat immediately returning to the frigate that it came from after unloading its cargo and receiving its payment. After the crate was unloaded, The Ancestor carried it personally all the way up to the manor, something he rarely did without good reason.

But the reason _was _good. His newest ritual book had finally arrived, along with all the other tablets so as to prevent another from finding and taking it. With this new development, his desire for knowledge and influence flowed ever stronger, especially with it quite literally within reach. He had reached the room he had set aside for the ritual and opened the crate gingerly removing the book. The cover was more of that strange metal, the pages were silken rather than parchment. He opened the page to an… Index?

No dire warning about the mind wrenching horrors within, no ramblings of a madman, just a small note stating that this book was the work of “The Pale King” and the ”Moth Tribe”, as well as an index of various rituals for the contacting the entities of this strange world. It was organized, well organized, when most books of this sort were rambling messes with no difference between metaphor and instruction, allegory after allegory stacked like bricks, punctuated with the occasional gruesome description of the results and spatter of bloody ink. This book, however, was organized, almost clinical. The text was descriptive and clear as to what one must do and the results gained from doing as such. It was a welcome change of pace from decoding manic scrawlings, reading something mentally stimulating. Actually mentally stimulating, not stimulating in the sense you feel your sanity leaching away.

There were many rituals, most simply for contact, as well as some few that would create a proper gateway. Beings from ”The Old Light” To “The Pale King”. Strangely, the descriptions of the former were rather sparse and indirect, with there being no ritual to properly open a gateway or long term contact, a sharp contrast to the rest of the book. The latter was apparently the _writer _of the book. Naturally, they were the best described, and presumably the most likely to have favorable contact. Flipping through the description, he laid eyes upon the ritual needed to contact them.

No exceptional ingredients, just patterns upon the floor, seemingly able to be carved or drawn. The sigil seemed to be particularly flowing and smooth, rather than the hard, geometric lines so common in other rituals. The trigger was the only even slightly morbid part, “A small amount of soul, either from your own reserves or from that of an animal”. That implied several things, one being that one’s soul is capable of repairing itself, another that it was capable of being used for magic, both interesting propositions. To be safe, he used a rat, placing it in the center.

He watched the ritual activate, a thin, swirling stream of a white substance flow along the lines drawn upon the floor. A Pale glow was in the center of the sigil, flowing into a humanoid form, signaling that it was ready. He kneeled before the glow, and spoke, 

“Whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” 

He knew full well the identity, but not the character of who he was speaking to…

========================

Meanwhile, in another world...

========================

The Pale King took off his robe in preparation for a short, well deserved nap, pleased with how well the day had gone. The King’s Golem, a larger, smarter Kingsmould, was complete. It could think and command lesser Kingsmoulds, and generally organize them when the King was busy. Which was most of the time, necessitating their creation. Hallownest was prospering, The White Lady was on a retreat to her garden, The Old Light was shattered, and the excavation of the Basin beneath the palace was going swiftly apace. 

After he was finished with his rest, he could do anything! He could read a book for pleasure rather than research notes, he could take a trip about Hallownest. He might even get some exercise and have a spar with his knights, something he hadn’t done in ages!

Or, rather, he could have done any and all of those things if a ghostly white silhouette hadn’t appeared. Rather similar to a bug, but certainly different, the head and torso separated by a strange limb, the arms and legs unnaturally thick, and the head oval shaped and fur covered. The Pale King immediately whipped their robe back on. If he was going to confront an apparition that appeared out of thin air, he was going to do it dressed well. Preferably armed as well, but it would be rude to do so and the armory was down the hall.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” 

“The Pale King. Now, tell me who you are. Immediately.” he replied, putting on the most authoritative, royal tone he could muster in such a circumstance

“I am but a humble seeker of knowledge from another world,” Spoke the apparition “I simply wish to learn some of what you know.”

The Pale King relaxed, a seeker of knowledge was something he knew how to deal with. But how did he learn… his train of thought stopped like it hit a brick wall. Was it that accursed thing?! “Did you do this through trial and error? Or was it a book, about half an inch thick and writ upon silk, bound in pale metal?”

“The Latter, your… Paleness” said the apparition, laying the flattery on thick. “I had it recovered, as well as all of the tablets that hinted as to its location”

“Good” Replied the king, finally calming ”Was I the first that you contacted? This is of great import to my kingdom, Apparition.” said The Pale King, in a grave tone indeed.

“No, you were the writer, so I assumed it would be best to contact you first, if only for another query I had.”

“Good. I will give you any one boon that I can grant, and all the knowledge I dare part with in return for one thing.” spoke The Pale King, outwardly calm but inwardly ecstatic. The possibility of recovering that accursed manuscript that held the last remnant of knowledge of The Radiance and the last chance of salvation and escape for The Old Light was nonexistent until then. And a chance that he was certainly willing to give up his time off for. After all, if this apparition were to open contact with one of Her fragments, if even for a few moments, She could escape and rebuild.

A long silence passed between the two, one expectant, the other deliberating

“What Price?” was the apparition’s response, grave and solemn in tone.

The Pale King Laid out his terms, “The book that gave you the instructions to contact me. As soon as you possibly can. Keep the tablets for all I care, they are near worthless unless you work them into something else without the book around. I will give you any boon, any at all that I can in return.” The Pale King was getting more desperate by the second, what if they refused, what if the-

“I accept.” said the apparition. “And what I want is protection. I have surrounded myself with brigands and thieves to keep the peasantry in line, but I fear that I may be betrayed.”

“Very well. I will walk you through the steps of opening a gateway, and you will send the book through, as well as a facsimile of the shell of one of your warriors.” said the Pale King, smug and satisfied at the turn of events, though somewhat disheartened at having to deal with someone that needs to resort to violence to keep their subordinates in line.

“Shell?”

“Yes, send me a statuette or detailed drawing of one of your warriors and their armor, and I will fill and animate the empty shell I will then create after their likeness. It may look a bit… unnatural, but will be beyond any natural foe I could possibly think of.” Said the Pale King, getting more annoyed with every word he had to speak to this unnaturally ignorant summoner.

“Very Well, I can acquire that.”

“Listen closely, for this gateway must be more potent than usual, not a ritual recorded in the book. First you must draw...”

===============

_ Some time later... _

===============

“It is finished.” said the Pale King to the Apparition.

The Apparition was seemingly anxious to receive their new guard, pacing and wringing their hands. The Pale King had worked day and night in a frenzy to create this new guardian, a challenging variation of a Kingsmould. He had tested it himself, the new Mould able to give him a respectable challenge, despite the power difference.

He gave the order to the bodyguard to enter the gateway, armed with the finest nail and greatshell Hallownest could offer.

“It may seem a tad… otherworldly wherever it is you reside. Although I loathe to tell you this, you may want to scuff or dirty the plating as well as give it a more inconspicuous and mundane weapon, at least if you care about it blending in.” said the Pale King, unhappy to give such advice, his conscious demanding he does so anyway.

“I see. Especially now that it’s through the gateway. It is more than sufficient to protect me.” The Apparition seemed pleased

“Good. My debt, meager as it is, is fulfilled. If you wish to gain some other boon, I require more payment.”

“Something I read in the book implied that one’s soul not only could be used as a source of fuel for various magics, but regenerates itself. Could I mayhaps learn how to manipulate it? I have many a tome on various rituals and spells, from necromancy to alchemy to binding or sealing creatures that I would be willing to part with in payment.”

The Pale King was interested. A hunch, mayhaps his Foresight acting up, told him that all the techniques and knowledge on bindings that he could find would be of great assistance in the upcoming years. Why it would help, he could only guess, his mind turning to darker and darker possibilities every second.

“I would like the last ones you mentioned, on binding and sealing.”

“I get my payment first this time.”

“Very well, acceptable considering the wait. To learn to manipulate soul, you must first focus…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my first Fic. Hope you liked it. It'll end up being longer, don't worry.
> 
> I made this because I wanted to see some fic about what happened if a "generic" fantasy world and Hallownest interacted. But since I could only find one, I decided to make my own. But then the thought hit me to use Darkest Dungeon, a world that is just as depressing and sad as Hallownest can be.
> 
> To be fair, maybe these two worlds can come together and solve some of each other's problems, eh?
> 
> If you think there are any additional tags to add, tell me.
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr account. Yell at me to do shit on there. I need the motivation.
> 
> https://adudesomewhere.tumblr.com/
> 
> Posted 8/20/2019
> 
> The edit's for some missing punctuation, don't worry.


	2. An Intermission

In The Hamlet,

A man falls to depravity,

The gate beneath is Opened,

A call for help across worlds goes unheard

And an heir comes to reclaim their birthright.

  
================================  
  


In The Land Of Hallownest,

A Kingdom crumbles,

Its King abdicates,

A Light is broken the second time,

And siblings rebuild.


	3. An Emptiness Filled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hollow finds purpose in life again.

The Hollow Knight was not hollow. They had a mind, even if they weren’t a genius like Father. They certainly had a will, one stronger than many could ever possibly have themselves, surprising all that had seen their facade that they put up to the world. And by the Wyrm could they cry suffering, at least after what The Old Light, that glorious and terrible Radiance had done to them. It was what called Ghost back to Hallownest, after all.

Hollow strode through the streets of the City of Tears, leaning on the long, pointed metal cane whenever they had to go under an archway. It would have been negligent for their nail to carry their weight by now, so they weren’t unhappy with not having it. Not today at least. 

Now that Ghost was The King (nominal as the title was now), and Hornet both the (only slightly less nominal) Queen of Deepnest and co-ruling with Ghost until they learned how to do it themselves, Hollow didn’t get out much. In any case, they never used to get out much before, what with the Black Egg and relative isolation in the Palace, they thought wryly. 

To be fair, their routine was far more comfortable than it was all those years ago. Rather than standing at attention by The Pale King, or training for sometimes days on end, they slept in comfortable nests, or relaxed in plush chairs looking over the rare courtly proceedings from a cool, shadowy alcove.

But they felt…  _ wrong _ inside. They knew it wasn’t anything physical, they would’ve been able to tell if it was. It was different, like being hungry whenever they needed to recover. There was a need, an urge, a mental itch to scratch. A lack of  _ something _ . It was why they snuck out of the Tower in the first place, to try and find what it was. To go to a peaceful place and think. Peaceful for them at least. They didn’t have the opportunity for an outing like this often, with both Hornet and Ghost busy enough with either cleanup or attempting to rebuild administration.

They were heading toward the renovated lower elevator, as if on their way to the tram to visit Deepnest or Kingdom’s Edge. However, the place they were going was deeper than the elevator would take them. Once they were in the cab, they inspected the bugs along for the ride. There weren’t many, both because of their size and the fact that few needed to go to places the elevator would take them. There was a stark dichotomy between grimy Menderbugs on tram duty or dung-stained sewer workers heading to the lower waterways and the two fine cloaked, important couriers on their way to the Hive or Deepnest that didn’t want to wait for the Old Stag. Hollow was both deeply amused and somewhat saddened at the expression of disgust on their faces at the workers.

After exiting the cab, Hollow kept on their supposed path to the tram. Except, whenever the cab had reached the tram platform, they just kept walking forward and hopped to a lower ledge. It was only a matter of time now before Ghost noticed that their big sibling was missing, so they had to hurry it up somewhat.

Hollow owed Ghost a debt. They knew not how to pay so great a due as was owed for what they had done. They had wronged their sibling so much, failed Hallownest time after time. They didn’t know how to even start, not allowed to serve the only way they knew how.

Just before they hit the bottom of the basin, they stopped. They turned and stepped forward into a tunnel, an old one once well traveled by, now only but rarely walked.

They looked over the grounds, ruined as they were, at the collapsed rubble of the White Palace. Even shattered and filthy with the residue of an era long gone, they still gleamed with an almost ethereal beauty. They stood tall and proud as if they were back in court all those years ago, and for a few moments, they mourned. 

Mourned for an age gone by. Mourned for Hallownest. Mourned for Father. They stood in a trance of thought, an unending stare into the middle distance like the one they had used to fake emptiness. That and sleeping standing were their most effective tools of deception. Both were fragile, broken by even the lightest touch of a finger.

In this case, a finger of soul. They whipped their cane into guard and immediately spread their stance in preparation for warding off a blow from a blast of soul, only to see some of it leaking vaporously from a hole in the wall, rather than flying toward them with lethal intent. They cautiously shuffled toward the source of soul, cane raised in the case it was a hostile bug. If it was, it was most likely an escaped student of the Soul Master, and if it was, they would bring justice to the vile murderer.

But, it wasn’t a bug. After breaking down the wall, there was nobody there. Just a sigil upon the floor, glowing with soul. They could tell at a glance that it was Father’s work. It seemed to be… Hollow didn’t recognize the pattern on the floor. Hollow, despite the impression their battered body and penchant for physical combat gives, was very proficient at several varieties of soulcraft. Anything from healing(beyond their capabilities as it was to heal their arm and cracked mask), to a prodigious variety of ways to inflict harm, to teleportation. 

After looking at it a moment, they realized that they had to look at the parts rather than the whole. Only then did it hit them that it was some manner of long range, multiple use teleportation and communication hybrid. There were some form of extraneous parts, clearly important but nothing that they knew even the basics of.

It’s a fine thing to find, and certainly one that they would show to Quirrel for them to and research now that they had started the Archive again. A thought flashed through their head, a sense of deja vu, almost like a flash of a memory.

Looking at the sigil on the ground, that thought ran through them again. What if they had seen this before? They turned to leave, leaning on their cane, and then the memory finally hit them. They  _ had _ seen it. They were barely out of the Abyss when it happened. A memory of Father speaking with a silhouette of soul, one atop a glowing pattern , if not exactly like this one. The figure had been asking for help, saying that they needed more security, more protection for their excavations. Father said that they would get it next they readied the portal, but only if they truly needed it. That if they called again without need, there would be a price that they may not like to pay. The sigil stopped glowing, and the figure disappeared.

The Kingsmoulds save one were gone, taken by the Palace’s collapse. They felt that the one that was still out there was a deserter, a traitor. The only reason Hollow hadn’t hunted it down themselves was that they didn’t fit through the doorway of the room it hid in, and Ghost was unwilling to either send anyone there or do it themselves. They’d mentioned that the traitor had thought that they were doing a good thing, and would be no more trouble, but what could a traitor possibly do that is good, or even be thought of as such? And when were they not trouble?

It didn’t take a leap of logic to figure out that the glowing meant the sigil was active and the apparition was calling for help. It was up to them, it had to be. The last order of The Pale King left incomplete. Father’s last unfulfilled promise. It must be unfulfilled, they had never heard or seen a lack of Kingsmoulds, nor had Father made more than one or two at a time, as would be needed to cover up the sudden disappearance of several Kingsmoulds from the Palace without a trace. That means this must be the first time that the sigil had activated since then. It must be, Father wouldn’t betray someone’s trust, not if they had given their word. They finally had a chance to redeem themselves.

Hollow snapped out of their thoughts. They needed their nail. Their cane was more than fine for any brigand or bandit too idiotic to think better of going after them or the occasional young, overconfident mantis or sentry seeking a spar, but it wasn’t meant to be a weapon. Their nail, however, was one of the finest weapons that they knew of, even dulled and dilapidated as it currently was, made by Father himself. They would need it, if they would be bodyguarding. Fighting.

By the Wyrm, they hadn’t fought in such a long time…

One of their prior outings was quite... Foolish so to speak, and was why they weren’t allowed their nail unsupervised outside the Spire “Until they were better”. It had also reminded them that practice makes perfect, and that centuries in chains do not make for good practice.

They walked back down the tunnel, climbing up the hanging platforms, using their cane’s handle to hook on to some to haul themselves up, others simply using their arm to grab the ledge. They got a few strange looks, pulling themselves up onto the platform from below. No words though. People knew better than to question the... eccentricities of the royal family, if only because they would receive no answer other than a quizzical tilt of the head if they were lucky, or a tirade if they weren’t.

They climbed back into the elevator cabin, emptier now. They were wondering how to sneak their nail out of the tower, or whether they even could. It was too long to hide under their cloak, and the guard was too wide to be able to hide it inside them through their eyehole. That only left one, far more painful option. Their armhole. It, unlike the rest of their shell, was soft and malleable, like it had been when they were young. That meant they could put things in there, much like how they could do so with their entire body when they were younger, and Ghost still could. That they could, didn’t mean that it was a good idea. It was painful when they did, and though they had taken far, far worse, it was certainly still unpleasant. 

They were still going to do it, however, as it was the only idea that they had other than grabbing it and running. They were about halfway through storing it before they heard small footsteps.

“UNCLE HOOLLLLOOWWW,” It was the Grimmchild, Sanguine. ”AUNTIE HORNET’S LOOKING FOR YOOOUUU!”

He came flying around the corner. Figuratively, rather than literally, now that they had grown too large to fly. They stopped and goggled at Hollow, eyes wide, who had now inserted about another eighth of the nail in their shoulder. They locked eyes before pausing, putting their finger to their mask, and continuing to shove their nail further in, making sure to let them see that they weren’t hurt, just hiding it. 

Sanguine nodded, grinning, and scurried off at the realization that Hollow wasn’t missing, but was in the process of making mischief of some sort, continuing to “search” for Uncle Hollow in an attempt to cause some trouble of their own.

Hollow had finished hiding their nail, thankful that they had made sure to show Sanguine that they were simply hiding it and that that child so loved annoying Ghost. By the Wyrm did the child have some tracheae, and the voice to match!

They rearranged their cloak to cover their maimed shoulder, took up their cane, and walked out the door. They were glad that they had kept that trick secret, no one knew that they could do it. Ghost might know, being a vessel, but they had never shown it if they did.

They got a few more looks this time from the populace, sparse as it was. It wasn’t often that they left the tower, especially twice in one day. It made them sad to see so few bugs about compared to The King’s Reign. Pale King, rather, now that Ghost had taken up the mantle. There weren’t many left now, most having fallen to the Infection, other, more ‘noble’ bugs turning brigand rather than face the “indignity” of manual labor needed to keep the city in repair.

Those that were left were mostly laborers and sentries, along with some of the higher nobility that actually kept the city running in its heyday. All the dandies had stopped lounging around by now, one way or another. A few sentries nodded as they passed, those from before the fall. Many more looked on curiously at them, those that didn’t bear the marks of the Infection.

Their heart lightened somewhat upon noticing that, for every bug that had the scars of the Infection, there were one or two that didn’t, their carapace unblemished and eyes bright. Hallownest was recovering, if slowly.

The elevator was empty, now that the morning rush had passed and everyone had gone where they needed to go. They were somewhat surprised that Ghost or Hornet hadn’t come to retrieve them yet. They did ask Sanguine to get them, but they assumed that it was so they knew if they actually had to go looking. The Grimmchild had a knack for finding things and people, they probably got it from Ghost.

Besides, if they hadn’t started looking themselves like they usually did, it was nothing important, they were sure of it. Probably just looking over the courtly proceedings where they could watch comfortably, like they were usually asked to. They didn’t know why. They never really contributed to the rulings, just sat and watched. Occasionally gave some encouragement if they felt that their siblings needed it.

They had reached the Palace now. All that they needed to do now was enter the gateway. They withdrew their nail from within their shoulder, a far less painful process than the reverse, slinging it over their shoulder afterward. 

At the last moment, they turned to the opalescent rubble and ruin that was all that was left of the Palace, and raised their fist in salute. For the Pale King. For Father. 

As They stepped onto the sigil, and felt it start to take them away. Just before they left, they noticed that that need, that urge, was gone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I referred to THK as male, I will often subconsciously do so.
> 
> I actually just got Grimmchild's name by searching for synonyms of the color red. I thought Sanguine appropriate.


	4. A Change of Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hollow visits the ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really needed to post this to try and rid myself of writer's block

Swirling, twisting colors. A flowing, viscous red darker and more vivid than the Nightmare’s flame, a glowing, refracting, crystalline horror from the furthest and most ancient of places. And one thing, the only one that truly terrified them, were Lights. The brightest enough to make the Radiance as they knew it look naught but a candle. But these Lights seemed an ember in the night compared to the depths from which they heard a heart, twisted and pulsing, thumping, beating.

  
  


And, going unnoticed almost until they hit it going down their proverbial tunnel, a flash of white soul, laid in waiting by a Wyrm for his children, foreseen to mayhaps find his most hidden secrets should they live. Hollow felt magic wash over them, leaving them unconscious until they arrived, and oblivious as to what else the magic might be working…

========================

_ Meanwhile, in a state of ruin... _

========================

_ “Whereart ye heretic idols! I require more funding!” _ Reynauld giggled, mad, blinking rancid wine out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time this mission.

“Ah, fuck! That’s the third time this month.” 

“Strange, it appears my herbs and tinctures do little to soothe him. Dismas, My hypothesis was wrong, You’ll get your wager back.”

“Just wait until we get back to the Hamlet, Some time on the pews will do them well.”

One’s mental faculties are unneeded to lay the dead to rest, however, evidenced by the fourth of the shambling dead’s shattered remains now lying upon the ground. As well as the other two laid low by Reynauld’s longsword, only one having escaped his blade this battle and falling to the crack of Dismas’s pistol.

“That’s the last of them everybody, ale’s on me when we get ba-” Dismas started to say,

“NO!” Before he was interrupted by Reynauld “There’s more here! More HERETICS to purge! More APOSTATES for the block! More treasure for the taking, more heirlooms to be found...” His words trailed off into mumbling.

Dismas gathered his companions that were still sane to discuss what to do about the madder than usual Reynauld.

“We can’t just leave him,” Junia proclaimed immediately “it would be wrong, immoral.”

“Actually, we both can and should. I haven’t been able to properly examine him properly for injuries, nor will I presumably be able to, but I see no blood but that upon his sword nor any strain upon him but that of the mind. As opposed to us three, who are all in such a state of exhaustion, blood loss, and nausea that it’s medically  _ wrong _ that we even be moving out of bed, much less attempting to wrestle a man such as Reynauld for the half mile back to town.” 

“Damn right. I’m bone-tired from cleaning up this rabble of the risen dead, and we were thorough, even neurotic about it, so if there’s anything left, it’s too small to hurt him. Like a maggot. Normal ones mind you, not the big ones. May as well let him get it out of his system, rather than take anything of value.” Dismas mumbled, ”Still haven’t figured out where he squirrels it away. Or what he does with all of it, for that matter.”

“If you truly think it would help more than hurt.”Junia sighed, looking over to Reynauld, who had now moved on from muttering to himself and pacing to throwing books off the bookshelves and yelling at paintings to tell him where the heretics and blasphemers were.

“He does need to get it out of his system. Let’s come back later with someone who can… bring him back… somehow.” Said Paracelsus, already theorizing on the logistics of trying to snap them out of their mania long enough to (perhaps literally) drag them back to the Hamlet. Or simply skip to the latter, should the first be impractical.

“Uhh, Reynauld, friend? We’re go-”

“SILENCE! Canst thou not see that I am trying to shine the Light on the hiding places of This foul estate’s Heresy and its ill gotten gains?!” Reynauld yelled, interrupting Dismas

”If thou art too frail to assist me, my fellow crusader, rest at the war camp if you so wish, for though you are mine brother in arms I will NOT tolerate you attempting to steal my glory! I will not let you...”

As Reynauld descended into mutterings and mumblings of an era of his life long past, his friends and party left for home and help in recovering the mad crusader.

=======================================

_ From one living in a warped vision of the past... _

=======================================

Renauld cursed his companions and their lack of work ethic, barely helping with the looting and going off to feast prematurely. Even his squire had left, the lanky bastard. In any case, he knew there would be treasure hidden here. He always knew, and he always found it. An iron strongbox under the desk full of silver bars, a false bottom to a chest hiding some jewelry, a purse of coin lashed tight to the hanging rack in the back of the wardrobe…

Reynauld and his squire always found the best loot. A few times they had found entire safes behind paintings, or an escape tunnel behind a bookshelf. Once they found a fully stocked vault hidden under a rug concealing a trap door and ladder. They’d feasted like kings that night. His squire had been knighted, and Reynauld supposed that leaving for home and a more domestic order, rather than dedicating themselves to The Crusade as Reynauld had could seem like a valid choice. It wasn’t, but he could see how it looked like it was.

Suffice it to say, he had the knack for finding things others didn’t want found.

Reynauld supposed it was just him that would be finding the loot now. His squire had left long ago, after all. But didn’t they just leave with their other brothers in arms..? More for him to send off in any case. He couldn’t be there, but he could still help.

Reynauld was about to start smashing shelves on the off chance that there was coin hidden inside the planks and trying to pry the faded frescoes off of the walls, when he noticed a crack reaching behind a bookshelf.

He immediately threw the bookshelf on its side, desperate to find the secret he  _ knew _ was behind it, giddy as a child on the Feast of Lights opening a present. He heard the scurry and chitter of rats seeping from a small hole in the wall, from which the crack branched. But maybe… was that a scuff of sandal on stone? Did he see the light of a torch? He needed to know. Reynauld soon found that the hole was too small to admit a man of The Crusade armored as he was, being barely bigger than the size of his head and at floor level. No matter for a man of will and forceful countenance such as him. None at all, he thought as he backed up for a running start.

Though Madness had clouded his judgement, it hadn’t clouded Reynauld’s eyes, nor his instincts...

  
  


===================================================

_ From one in for the brightest and darkest surprises of her life... _

===================================================

Theophania was excited. She had donned her mask of brass, the site was clean, and her small but respectable cult had already tied the sacrifices in the center of the glyphs that they had found in this small, hidden corner of The Ruins.

This wasn’t her first summoning, though she didn’t know what to expect from this one. It was pre-inscribed, already carved into the stone by some equally, if differently, heretical precursor.

She didn’t even know what the sacrifice called for. It could be anything from a piglet to a trussed-up virgin to gold. In her experience, it never hurt to go overkill, both literally and figuratively. So she had not one but TWO virgin maidens, near a thousand salvaged pieces of gold, and an extra binding circle of salt around the summoning glyph.

She was ready. The knife was sharpened and her many consorts were about to start the ritualistic chanting. She took a hold on one of the maidens, kicking and screaming, and opened her mouth to call for it all to begin.

“My fellow Children of the Nig-”

“MISTRESS! He came in through the wall!”

“Who? Can you not see that we are about to start the ritual?”

“He’s already gotten through the perimeter!”

“WHO?”

“The Crusader!”

The maiden sobbed with relief.

She blanched. She had thought that this place was unfindable. The only access was through a hatch under a rock on the side of a tree covered hill. The only reason she had found it was that she had literally tripped over the entrance and threw the rock off with her eldritch powers in a rage.

“What’s going on? How many of them are there?”

“Just the Crusader, mistress. He seems to be alone.”

She turned on her heel to face the Children of the Dark, her devotees and concubines alike in service to the darkness.

“Children of the Night, the foul warden of Light has entered our abode. Half of you, see to our guest. Everyone else must help complete the ritual!”

As she raised her knife, something curious happened. White, vaporous,  _ something  _ flew out of the maidens eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, glowing and swirling around the glyph. It lasted for a solid minute, the maiden‘s shrieks getting slower and quieter, until, finally, she fell unconscious. 

Theophania was stunned, never before had she seen anything quite like  _ this _ before. No, not only did the sacrifice be accepted without preamble, it simply  _ started _ by itself. And not only was it accepted, not only was the sacrifice itself just  _ left  _ there, but  _ whatever  _ it was didn’t come through!

The glyph was still glowing though…

Mayhaps time was the required component. Yes, that was it…

So she waited a minute. Then two. The sounds of battle and righteous extermination grew closer by the second. She had to help, or the only one to receive the glyph’s guest would be that damnable Crusader.

“Alert me if anything comes through. If it stops glowing, throw the next one in.”

With those words, the last most of them would ever hear from their mistress, she left to confront The Crusader.

For, just a moment or two later, it stopped glowing, so they threw the second girl on the glyph. And a third, something came out…

================================================

_ From one about to deliver justice, regardless of the difficulty… _

================================================

Hollow woke up, standing. Their immediate instincts were to look around, and they were glad they did. Strange bugs, wearing strange masks that seemed to glow dully in the torchlight. They looked down and saw two more of the strange bugs, unmasked, unmoving, surrounded by a pile of gleaming, yellowish metal, the likes of which they had only seen in their worst dreams.

Hollow looked back up. The standing bugs seemed reverent, even… fearful, mayhaps?

Hollow leaned down to inspect the bugs at their feet, gently prodding them with their cane. The bug didn’t move.

One of the masked bugs finally steps forward.

“Dark One. We ask your assistance in slaying the Crusader. He has come to drive us from this place. We hope that you are pleased with the girls.”

Hollow tilted their head. Something seemed very wrong. There was no payment necessary, for Father would have been the one to take it. Hollow didn’t know what it would have been anyway, but guessed that it would be something less… physical.

“Dark One, though it took much effort, we can kidnap more giRRRR-” ** **

** _*CRUNCH*_ **

The bug didn’t get much further, as Hollow realized what had happened the second they said kidnap, they made up their mind by the time they said more, they had dropped the cane and Hollow’s hand had started moving before they started saying girl, and the bug was cut off by hitting the wall, punctuated by what Hollow would’ve said was the bug’s shell breaking if it wasn’t so soft when they grabbed its neck.

Most of them backed up slightly, raising strange claws attached to gauntlets. Hollow let their cane lay on the floor, it wasn’t a real weapon, and their nail, even degraded as it was, would be far more useful to them right now.

As such, Hollow drew their nail, dropping into a defensive stance.

Hollow had already planned their moves. Lunge forward, thrust to the neck of the first. Tear their nail free, sweep around to face the second. Make an overhead swing, power through the inevitable attempt to block. Guard against the last’s incoming strike, retaliate, and end them. It should be easy.

It  _ should  _ have been. It wasn’t.

Hollow lunged, but they were short, landing well before their mark. They stumbled forward a few steps, and slammed into the foe, taking them to the ground. The second had swept behind Hollow, claws raised. Time to improvise. Hollow came to their feet, turning around, and stomped on the grounded bug’s neck, feeling it snap. They brought their nail up to block a thrust from the bug in front of them.

Hollow’s arm trembled as they received the blow on their nail. This bug was strong for its size. Hollow needed to end this fast, they were unprepared for that strong of a blow.

Hollow used their head. Not to come up with an idea, but to slam it into the strange bug’s, who promptly dropped to the floor with a thud. They looked around, searching for the last one, drawing their nail close to their body.

There was a stabbing pain in their back as they were, well, stabbed. Hollow whipped around, throwing their arm into a swing that nearly cut the bug in half. Nearly, because the bug was currently running down the corridor, leaving Hollow alone with a pair of claws stuck in his back, but for the two bugs he had awoken standing over.

No time for that. They had to get that last bug. Hollow took a step, faltered, and straightened. No time for pain. They broke into a shambling run down the corridor that the bug fled through.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Fic. Hope you liked it. It'll end up being longer, don't worry.
> 
> I made this because I wanted to see some fic about what happened if a "generic" fantasy world and Hallownest interacted. But since I could only find one, I decided to make my own. But then the thought hit me to use Darkest Dungeon, a world that is just as depressing and sad as Hallownest can be.
> 
> To be fair, maybe these two worlds can come together and solve some of each other's problems, eh?
> 
> If you think there are any additional tags to add, tell me.
> 
> NOTE: The next chapter is somewhat nearing completion, be on the lookout if you like this so far.
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr account. Yell at me to work faster if you want(please do)
> 
> https://adudesomewhere.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Posted 8/20/2019


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